


Hales Have People For That

by LadyDrace



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Stiles, Dark, Emissary Stiles Stilinski, Established Relationship, Happy Ending, Human Trafficking, Kidnapping, Light Angst, M/M, POV Derek Hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-03
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-03-13 01:44:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13560039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyDrace/pseuds/LadyDrace
Summary: Some moron decides to capture the Hale pack. Big mistake. Really big.





	Hales Have People For That

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rieraclaelin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rieraclaelin/gifts).



> This is a birthday gift for the amazing [Jessie](http://rieraclaelin.tumblr.com/). <3 I love you, and I hope you have an amazing day!
> 
> Fic is very loosely based on [this badass gifset](http://rieraclaelin.tumblr.com/post/167195593912/thisdiscontentedwinter-prettiestcaptain-an).
> 
> This fic is set in some nebulous universe where Erica and Boyd didn't die and Cora didn't leave, but where Stiles was still possessed by the Nogitsune. Just roll with it.
> 
> Rated mature for violence, so no porn here. Sorry.

Derek wakes up to a pounding headache and the distressing realization that, yet again, his pack is in danger. However – though his memory _is_ a little foggy – this time at least he's fairly certain it wasn't his fault. That doesn't really help the pervasive feeling of being completely useless, but he'll take what he can get at this point.

 

A quick look around shows him that Erica, Boyd and Isaac are all out cold, chained to a concrete block each, but Cora is shaking herself awake against the opposite wall of the fairly small room they're in. Whoever kidnapped them are definitely not amateurs, because both Derek and Cora are tied down with rune-inscribed collars and manacles, as well as chains like the others. There's no way to break free with brute force. Their powers are locked down.

 

“Cora,” Derek rasps, voice scratching at his dry throat. “Cora, are you okay?”

 

“No,” she grits out, squinting. “But if the fucking asswipe who gave me this headache is dumb enough to get close, I'll definitely be okay enough to _bite their fucking head off._ ”

 

Derek is actually a little surprised at her vitriol, so her headache must be pretty severe. Either that, or she has other injuries he can't see. And his senses must be muted from the runed bindings, because he can't smell any blood or pain on her at all.

 

His worry must show, because she quirks a small smile at him. “Don't worry, doofus, I'm fine. Just a hangover. And I only want to endure hangovers when I've had a really great time with wolfsbane wine beforehand.”

 

“Okay. Good.” He glances over at the others and Cora rattles her chains at him.

 

“Hey. They'll be fine too.”

 

“I know.”

 

She sends him a wicked grin. “If nothing else, because-”

 

They both jump as the door slams open, and a tall, menacing guy walks in. A werewolf, Derek realizes only belatedly, and hates that his senses are no help right now.

 

“Well, well. The Hale pack,” the guy says, looking around at them. “The _legendary_ Hale pack. Wow, things really _have_ changed since Talia kicked the bucket, huh?”

 

Derek feels his eye twitch, but he refuses to give this asshole the satisfaction of riling him up.

 

Cora seems to have no such reservations. “Come a little closer and I'll show you legendary,” she says through her fangs. Derek is sure she'd be completely wolfed out if not for the runes. But even with a mostly human face she looks plenty terrifying, and he's mildly impressed that their captor doesn't seem phased by it.

 

“Honestly, I'd expected a little more resistance,” the douchebag says, kicking lightly at Erica's limp foot, and making Derek bite down on a snarl. “I'd heard all kinds of rumors. That the Hale pack was back and building their numbers again. That they were taking back the old territory and settling down in Beacon Hills again. That they were all well-trained and skilled, yadda yadda yadda.” He turns to Derek. “I'd even heard that the Hale alpha _wasn't_ completely useless.”

 

That does sting, and Derek glares, silently conveying his hatred of this overblown gas bag.

 

“I _was_ about to reconsider taking you on at all, but I've been preparing for this for years, and I figured I'd better strike now before you had a chance to accumulate more power. You see, I have big plans for Beacon Hills. And I'm almost ready to implement them. It was really convenient for your whole family to just... drop like flies back then, and leave all that high grade territory up for grabs. Gotta hand it to Kate Argent. She's efficient.”

 

The urge to rip the guy's throat out is getting increasingly intense, but Derek settles for clenching his fists. There might be something to it. He might very well be a shitty alpha to a half-assed pack. But he's got a _few_ decent skills. One of them being patience. And seeing as he's not currently frothing with rage and tearing at his bindings, he has time to examine the face of their kidnapper, and suddenly the puzzle pieces come together.

 

“ _Mikey?!_ ”

 

“It's _Michael_ , thank you very much,” he snarls. “And I'm glad you remember me all of a sudden.”

 

“I would have remembered you sooner, but the Mikey I knew was a cute little kid in the Landon pack who knew when to shut the hell up. So. Not much resemblance,” Derek shoots back, and it's delightful how Michael glares.

 

“You always were a wise-ass,” Michael spits, but then he grins and squats down in front of Derek. “Guess it's all you _can_ be right now, huh.”

 

He looks like he's about to gear up for even more monologuing when his phone rings. And he's so annoyingly smug that he doesn't even step away to answer it, just puts it to his ear while still grinning at Derek. “Yeah?”

 

Thanks to his confident closeness, Derek gets the full experience of watching his face fall as an agitated voice rambles on the other end. “Woah, wait hang on, what-? _All of them?_ How the hell-?”

 

He's listening to more rambling as Cora begins to laugh behind him. It's her terrifying evil genius laugh. The one that always made their parents sit her down for a talk about basic morals, because it never failed to make her sound like a tiny devil. It's not even remotely less scary coming from her now as she's a legal adult.

 

“Here it comes,” she purrs, and Michael whips around to glare at her.

 

“What the hell are you talking about? _What did you do?_ ”

 

“I didn't do anything. That's kinda the beauty of it. I don't have to,” she says, smugness radiating off her, and she sits back against the wall in a blatant show of comfort. “The Hale pack has people for that kind of thing.”

 

“Or person, singular. If you want to be pedantic,” Derek adds, and lets himself grin too. He also knows what's coming. _Who_ is coming.

 

There's clatter on the other end of the phone, audible even to Derek's muted senses, and Michael goes white. “Emmett? Emmett?!” There's no answer, and the line eventually goes dead. Michael glares at them all in turn and then shoots to his feet. “Stick around,” he snarls at them, and then stalks out, slamming the door behind him.

 

As soon as the door is closed, Cora smirks at Derek. “How long, do you think? Half an hour?”

 

“Depends how far away we are, I guess. Maybe an hour.”

 

“I'm telling Stiles you low-balled it. You're gonna pay.”

 

Derek just shrugs. “He'll just ask for kinky sexual favors. No skin off _my_ teeth.”

 

“Oh, _ew_.”

 

“ _You_ started it,” Derek says gleefully, and settles down to wait. Because help is on the way.

 

It should probably bother Derek more that the before-mentioned Emmett is most likely stone cold dead right now. But considering the kind of power-greedy, menacing assholes they're dealing with, Derek can't find it in him to feel sorry for whatever they get. Although personally he's pretty firm on not killing anyone unless he absolutely has too.

 

Stiles, on the other hand... Stiles is terrifying in his callous disregard for human or non-human lives when they threaten someone he loves. Again, Derek would feel better if it bothered him more. But it just doesn't. Maybe he's just seen too much death by now to be really affected by it anymore. Whatever the case, he already knows he's fucked up, and yet... Stiles seems to love him anyway. And being loved by Stiles Stilinski means having to accept that nothing is allowed to hurt you unless that thing also wants to be very, very dead.

 

Michael slams in again, and Derek hates that he jumps just like last time. But Michael's frazzled attitude more than makes up for it. “Sorry for cutting this short, but I'm afraid we have to move,” he says, and then jabs a needle in Derek's neck without so much as a by your leave. He passes out to Cora's frantic snarling, but he's not afraid.

 

Stiles is coming for them.

 

The next time Derek wakes up it's in a warehouse, and it's depressing how familiar it is. He makes a mental note to work with the city council to tear down all the old abandoned warehouses in town sometime soon, because it's clearly doing the criminal underbelly a lot of favors.

 

They're now all in cages, and when Derek brushes against the bars they burn his hands, so there's no busting out of these either. He can still see Cora and the others nearby, all the cages on a raised concrete platform, and he tries very hard to not think of the implications of this.

 

He's definitely having this building bulldozered into fine dust.

 

The upshot of this is that they all have a great view of the room, and whatever else Derek thinks about Michael and his pointless blustering, he at least seems to have plenty of friends. The warehouse is practically swarming with people; weres and humans clumped together in groups and making small talk, the doors and windows guarded by shifted weres and humans with _massive_ guns.

 

Derek has a really bad feeling about this.

 

That bad feeling doesn't get any better when Michael steps onto the platform and addresses the room. “Excuse me, may I have your attention, please? The auction is about to start! Let me first express my regret that we had to move the schedule up, but – as I'm sure you're all aware – this is some quite hot merchandise, so the faster we can move it the better. So get your wallets ready, and we'll begin in a few minutes!” He winks at Derek as he hops off the platform again, and Derek has to really restrain himself to not give Michael the satisfaction of seeing him riled up.

 

“Wow, and just when I thought I couldn't possibly hate him more,” Cora says from the next cage over, and Derek nods.

 

“I didn't even think things like this happened anymore.”

 

“They don't. Which is why there's such a crowd. He's really bringing back the glory days.”

 

Cora knows a lot more about the werewolf community than Derek, not only because she was raised in a pack who were more than happy to teach someone as bright and determined as her, but also because she's actually interested in current events. Derek was always more about the history.

 

In the next cage over, Isaac, Erica and Boyd are stirring, and Cora helpfully scoots to the back of her cage so Derek can see them better in their shared cage beyond hers.

 

“Derek?” Isaac calls, eyes wide and fearful, Erica and Boyd blinking groggily behind him.

 

“I'm here. Don't touch the bars.”

 

He nods and makes sure the others heard it too.

 

“Boss?” Erica says quietly. “What's going on?”

 

“I think we're being sold. But hang tight. Stiles is coming.”

 

“Of course he is,” Erica says with a weak sort of smirk.

 

Michael steps up to Derek's cage, blocking his view of his betas, and a snarl erupts before Derek can stop it.

 

“Don't be too cocky. Whoever this _Stiles_ is, I sincerely doubt he'll find his way here until the auction is over, and all of you are in shipping crates. Or on autopsy tables. A lot of ingredients are best when fresh,” he says menacingly, and Cora makes barf noises behind him.

 

“You're a traitor to your own kind. And for what? A plot of land?” Derek spits, and Michael squats down, as if to be just that little bit more condescending.

 

“Oh, no. I wanted your territory, sure. But the problem with killing an alpha as weak and pathetic as Landon for his power means that there wasn't much to get. A few betas, a small farm and a lot of debt. So even if I just killed you all and took your territory, I wouldn't be able to hold it. No status would come of it. No, to establish power properly, in both human and were communities? You need cold, hard cash.” He grins toothily, and Derek really, really wants to bash in those pearly-whites. “And the easiest way was pretty much right under my nose. Two birds with one stone, so to speak. You know what a born werewolf's heart goes for on the black market? Half a million dollars. Five times that if it's fresh. And don't get me started on the rest of you.”

 

“Gross,” Boyd says, and Michael nods infuriatingly.

 

“True. But valuable. So. Prepare to look your best! It's time.”

 

Derek only just manages not to growl at the bastard as he gets up to start the auction, but Cora spits on him. He doesn't even wipe the stain off his pants, just grins at them, as if he hasn't a care in the world.

 

“I'm gonna tell Stiles to kill this one slowly,” Cora snarls, and Derek silently agrees.

 

“Everyone! Time to start the bidding,” Michael declares. “First up; cute, curly-haired beta at the end. Aged nineteen, bitten at sixteen, used to _a firm hand_ , or so I've been told.”

 

Derek damn near throws himself at the bars, because _how dare this asshole?!_

 

“Keep it together, bro,” Cora says, but her lip is curled in a snarl too. “Remember; he'll die screaming.”

 

As per usual Cora sounds terrifying, but Derek has to agree with her on this one. The mental image of Michael choking to death on his own blood _is_ quite nice.

 

“Any initial bids? No? Then let's start the bidding at-”

 

There's a low-pitched boom from somewhere outside, the ground shaking under Derek, and his gut swoops with delight. Because this is going to be amazing.

 

“Double check the doors,” Michael orders a nearby goon. His voice is level, but even from behind him Derek can tell his neck is going pale.

 

“Hope your affairs are in order, asshole,” Cora says, and Michael snarls at her.

 

“Careful. Or I'll keep you for myself. I could probably find good uses for your guts.”

 

Cora shrugs. “Not my kink, but you do you, dickhead.”

 

There's another boom, and the doors and windows shake. The guards nearest the doors start to look a little concerned, and several of the potential bidders are whispering urgently and fidgeting.

 

“Whoever your friend Stiles is, he'd be an idiot to just wander in,” Michael says, but he doesn't sound convinced anymore.

 

“He's not an idiot. He's Batman,” Erica says smugly, and as if Stiles hears her, the front doors blast open at that same moment. Chaos erupts immediately.

 

Several bidders vanish into thin air, using every skill at their disposal to get outta dodge, and Derek silently applauds them for their intelligence. Those people are going to survive this. The rest? No guarantees.

 

Derek can't even see Stiles yet, but there's a dense cloud of purple dust billowing in through the door, and every were in the vicinity drops to the floor. The human guards fire their guns frantically at the cloud, and Derek is grateful for his dimmed senses on this occasion.

 

A few clever guards jump out the windows higher up, but that still leaves a dozen or so. And that's not mentioning the few suicidal bidders who stay behind. Some are flashing fangs or glowing with power, others are brandishing weapons, both supernatural and not. Michael is wolfed out and looks menacing enough in his alpha rage, but even with his senses this dull Derek can smell his fear. It's _delicious_.

 

The purple dust clears, and Derek gets just a tiny glimpse of Stiles before he's blurred out again by his defenses. But that doesn't make it any less glorious when he strides in, bullets and spells bouncing off his protective barrier as he looks around, anger radiating off him.

 

“Who wants to die, and who wants to let me get to my pack?” he asks, mostly calm, but in a way that screams of restrained rage. “Your choice!” he tells the room, and a few more bright minds fuck off. The guards keep attacking, though, and Derek almost feels sorry for them as they drop one after the other. One is knocked out by his own gun, another is blown to bits along with several bystanders when the grenade on his belt goes off, several more simply crumble into a heap. Derek isn't entirely sure what Stiles is doing to them, and he also isn't sure he wants to know.

 

But it doesn't change how amazing it is to watch him cut a swathe through the room, anyone dumb enough to get in his way either dropping like a rock, or flying off into the air, according to his mood.

 

Michael is roaring with desperation as everyone in the room are slowly eliminated, and he jumps up to a higher level walkway before letting off a howl. He's clearly not as much of an idiot as Derek had assumed, because backup arrives within seconds, crashing through the roof and onto the walkway. All supernaturals, all with rare and powerful abilities, and Derek is actually concerned for a second.

 

“Ugh, really?” Stiles says, and waves his hand in a wide semi-circle, making everything between himself and the cages turn to dust, so he can turn his attention to the new foes above. “I _was_ trying to be nice, you know!” he yells at Michael. “I don't _want_ to kill tons of people. But you just _had_ to be difficult, didn't you?!”

 

“Rip him apart!” Michael screams, and Stiles rolls his eyes.

 

“Too scared to face me yourself?” he huffs as three harpies dive at him with their talons out and their screams making Derek's ears hurt. “Of course you are.”

 

Stiles holds up a hand, and the harpies are caught in a fierce whirlwind and crashed through a nearby window, just as a tall woman steps up to the railing and opens her mouth. Derek loses consciousness for a few seconds, because next thing he knows he's blinking awake to that same woman being pretty much force choked in mid air.

 

“A siren? Really? God, you _are_ desperate,” Stiles says, and then tosses the siren aside. Her body makes a sickening crunch where she lands, but it's almost immediately replaced by the sound of the cement floor cracking under Stiles' feet. A small group of witches are chanting off to the side, while several winged monsters all fly at Stiles at once. He stumbles, but then groans exaggeratedly.

 

“Okay, now you're just getting annoying,” he says, and closes his fist. In the blink of an eye he's on the walkway, all the witches going limp as one, and the flying beasts flapping around in confusion lower down.

 

“You _idiots_ , he's up here!” Michael screams, but it's too late. One by one they're tethered to the ground with string not unlike Spiderman's web, and Stiles must have learned that one recently, because it's new to Derek.

 

Michael clearly realizes that he's beaten, and tries to jump out through the holes in the roof, but Stiles uses that same web-string to lasso him around the ankle, and yank him back onto the walkway. The sound it makes when the rusty metal connects with Michael's smug face is nothing short of music to Derek's ears.

 

Stiles slowly reels Michael in, despite his terrified clawing at the mesh walkway, and eventually there's nothing he can do but stare in horror at Stiles' face. Derek can't see very well from directly below, but he knows what Michael is seeing.

 

After the Nogitsune, Stiles spent a lot of time hating himself and grieving for everything he did while possessed. But he's a Stilinski, and if there's one thing they simply do not know the concept of, it is letting go. So Stiles had faced it head on instead, used his spark to turn all the darkness inside him into raw power, and he's now almost as powerful as the thousand years old dark spirit itself. And when he lets it all loose, _it shows_. His eyes go a terrifying shade of purple, so dark it's almost black, and if he's pissed off enough, the power will leak out of him to form almost an aura of impenetrable darkness. He looks like some kind of void creature, and right now? Right now he's _pissed_.

 

“Should I kill him?” Stiles asks, his eyes not leaving Michael, but Derek knows who he's asking.

 

“Yes!” Cora says, but Derek cuts in.

 

“No. Not yet.”

 

“N'aww,” Isaac groans, but they all look to Derek.

 

“Let us out first. I want to see it. Make sure,” he says.

 

It's part sheer vengeance, but also part practicality. They all have plenty of nightmares, and seeing with their own eyes one more threat permanently erased might make them all sleep better at night.

 

“Be right there, honey,” Stiles says sweetly, and grabs Michael by the back of his neck like a disobedient wolf pup being hauled off by a parent. He teleports them both down, and Michael looks like he has to swallow back vomit. Derek smirks, because no, it's not pleasant at all. Not for Stiles either, but unlike a spineless worm like Michael, Stiles does what needs to be done, and now he's used to it.

 

He touches the cages one by one, his hand turning red and searing hot where he touches the metal, which then falls apart harmlessly.

 

“Hey, Batman,” Erica says as she steps out of the pile of metal. “Took you long enough,” she snarks, but Derek can hear the relief, and so can Stiles.

 

“Batmobile needed gas, you know how it is, Catwoman.”

 

“Excuses, excuses,” she huffs, as Stiles moves on to Cora's and then Derek's cage.

 

“Sorry for sending you to meet Clarence. I really thought I could trust that guy. I've dealt with him, though, don't worry,” Stiles says as Derek climbs to his feet.

 

“It's okay, even the magnificent Stiles is bound to fuck up sometimes.”

 

Stiles glares at him. “Don't think I can't hear the sarcasm there, sassywolf. I saved your ass, didn't I?”

 

“Derek low-balled how long it would take you to save us,” Cora says, and Derek glares at her.

 

“Couldn't wait _five minutes_?”

 

“Nope!” she says gleefully, and Stiles points a finger at Derek with the hand not currently holding onto Michael.

 

“Rude, Der. I'm hurt. Sexual favors. Like, so many.”

 

Derek rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I know.”

 

“Gross,” Boyd says again, but he's grinning. And his grin doesn't dim, only turns more menacing, as Stiles throws Michael down on the ground and they all circle around him.

 

“Now?” Stiles asks, dark energy flowing around his fingertips, and Michael shudders on the floor.

 

“Please,” he whimpers, because of course he does.

 

“Such a fucking coward,” Stiles says, shaking his head. “If you're gonna go for the big score, you gotta be ready to bet it all. You pathetic bottom feeders never get what you want, because you're never willing to die for it. And now you're gonna die anyway. Irony, man.”

 

They all stare down at him, and then look to Derek. Even Stiles looks to him, which is still odd, because they all know that Stiles is so powerful now that he could literally kill Derek with a snap of his fingers. But Derek is the alpha, and Stiles will never take that away from him.

 

So Derek meets Stiles' eyes with a smile, before turning back to Michael, letting every single feeling of disgust and betrayal bubble up in an angry snarl as he shifts his face. He allows himself to feel every sharp sting of bitterness and vengeance, letting it all show in his face, and Michael starts sobbing on the floor.

 

“Please don't,” he cries, and Derek savors it.

 

“You tried to hurt my pack. Tried to profit from selling your own kind for _parts_. You're despicable, and you don't deserve to live.”

 

“I'm sorry... I'm sorry-”

 

“Pathetic,” Cora says, and then looks to Derek. “ _You_ should do it. Make an example of him by taking his power.”

 

It hadn't actually occurred to Derek to kill a fellow alpha, because usually that means the alpha power just moves onto the next in line. But they have Stiles, and he's nodding already. “Sure. Do you want it? I can sever his bond to his betas. If any of them are still alive, I guess. Would be cool symbolism.”

 

“I don't need more power, though,” Derek says, because he feels plenty strong already, and doesn't want it to go to his head.

 

“Don't worry,” Boyd says, because he's always been good at knowing what Derek is thinking. “We'll keep you grounded.”

 

The others all nod, and Derek makes his decision. “Do it. Let the world know what happens if anyone tries to come for us again.”

 

“Cool beans,” Stiles says, and clenches his fist. Michael cries out, his eyes flickering red as his alpha bond is severed, and Derek kneels down next to him.

 

“Please. Please, you can't do this-”

 

“ _Can't?_ ” Derek snarls. “Do you even know who you went up against? Hale territory wasn't unchallenged for centuries because we were _rich_. My mother once killed a pack of _eighteen_ who tried to take us on. While she was _pregnant_. Killed them all on her own because they were moronic enough to threaten her family. My great aunt established her own pack territory by cleaning out a centuries old vampire hub with only two betas, and then took over their lands. My grandfather led a pack of full shift weres so powerful and respected that packs around our lands voluntarily moved away to avoid accidentally stepping over territory lines and offending him.

 

“Me? I killed _my own uncle_ after he went power-crazy and killed my sister. No, Michael. You simply have no idea who you're dealing with. And I'd let you live, but... people like you never learn,” Derek snarls, and then gives in to the instinctual urge to eliminate the threat to his pack.

 

They all watch as Michael bleeds out and shudders through the last of his heartbeats, and then they circle around to all touch Derek as the power surges in. It's not actually that much, Michael wasn't kidding when he complained about Landon's limited power. But it still burns in Derek's veins, and he leans into his pack.

 

“Gotta say,” Stiles says, eyes back to their usual and so beloved smooth brown. “You're getting really good at those dramatic speeches. Totally turning me on right now.”

 

“Ewww,” Cora says, while Erica waggles her eyebrows. Derek huffs, and leans in to rub his nose against Stiles' neck, taking in his scent and blocking out the nasty smells of death and blood around them.

 

“I was always good at dramatic speeches. You just never listened.”

 

“Lies and slander,” Stiles says, petting Derek's hair and re-applying his scent after several hours apart. “Come on, let's get you home and showered so I can cash in all those sexual favors.”

 

“Ewwwwwwww,” Cora wails and walks out, followed by Boyd, Isaac and eventually Erica, after taking the liberty of slapping Stiles on the ass. Just because.

 

It makes Derek smile against Stiles' cheek, and he sighs with relief. It's over. No one died. They're all okay. Thanks to Stiles.

 

“Yeah. Let's go home.”

 

End.

 

 

 


End file.
